The storm raged through the night, but by dawn the skies had softened into a pale, reluctant gray. The manor's corridors smelled faintly of damp wood and oil lamps, a reminder of the chaos outside.
Lucien stood in the courtyard, his cloak dark and heavy with rain. Liora joined him, her hair pulled back hastily, the shadows beneath her eyes betraying that she hadn't slept.
"Another messenger," Edgar announced, stepping forward with a sealed parchment. His voice carried an edge of unease. "From the capital. The king requests your presence at the next council session… in three days."
Lucien's jaw tightened. The king never requested. He summoned.
"Of course," Lucien muttered, slipping the letter into his cloak. But when his gaze shifted, he caught Liora's worried expression.
"What does it mean?" she asked quietly when Edgar had retreated.
